


i gotta get it back (can't let this go)

by gustin_puckerman



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Established Relationship, blood tw, damian and jon loves each other to pluto and back (and maybe more), no capital letters because we're Aesthetics, watch the two of them being sappy in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 17:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14453859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gustin_puckerman/pseuds/gustin_puckerman
Summary: it’s when it’s all been said and over that he finally allows himself to crack. or the one-short where damian nearly lost jon, and is trying his best to cope with the trauma.





	i gotta get it back (can't let this go)

**Author's Note:**

> idk idk idk why is ao3 messing with my writings????

damian is sharp, calculative, smart.

so when jon's chest has been lodged by some stupid kyrptonite bullets and his lungs, for the first time, fails itself on a normally-super body, damian is aware of what he should do. getting jon to safety is number one priority, aside from making sure the blood doesn’t tumble much from jon’s body than it already has. damian doesn’t know superman’s history of ever bleeding out — not in this universe, not in any other as well — but he does know he’s quick, resilient, and amidst the chaos and horror, damian’s done the best he could without further damaging jon or the wound he’s terribly suffering from if his blueing lips and even paler cheeks are any indication.

when the madness slows down, and damian’s have used enough red-sun filtered lamps to penetrate the skin and allow alfred to perform quick surgery on jon, damian doesn’t waste time reading and reading the vital signs, injecting the correct drugs or serums. he knows every details by heart — whether from experience, memories, or readings, they’ve all blurred together.

he just knows by the time father and superman have dragged themselves into the emergency room in the town damian barely remembers the name of, jon is stabilised. weak, and impossibly fragile for a kryptonian under the supposedly mighty yellow sun, but alive.

superdad does nothing but gives a tired nod, appreciative. he tells damian, “good job out there, robin.” and, “get yourself cleaned.” it’s the first time damian realises he hasn’t even dropped the stupid mask adorning his eyes.

father is already without his cowl, his ageing body obviously betraying him as he heaves from the long fight, but he eyes the chart, the readings. superman is already clasping jon’s thinner hand, his right one, kissing the knuckles. his eyes are wet, and damian nearly jumps from stressing superdad that jon is doing well despite the seemingly dire situation, before realising quickly how the tears are from relief.

damian looks away - the moment is private - just as father grunts. “diana is already with lois. she’ll be here in 90 seconds.”

“i’ll excuse myself.” damian announces, and he cannot hear what father or superdad has replied.  


it’s when it’s all been said and over — when he’s washing his hands for the fifth time because the blood from under his already clean-cut nails refuses to come out; when his clothes are piled and thrown carelessly across the white tiled floor; when the shower hitting his hair, eyes, neck and shoulder isn’t cold or warm enough no matter how much he’s adjusting the temperature — that he finally allows himself to crack.

jon has almost died, _gone from him_ , when he wasn’t careful.

and that image, that scene, replaying itself in his head... 

damian closes his eyes, breathes. then, sobs.

there are careful sounds, these sobs. quiet, but harsh-sounding when you can hear them. muffled by the heavy sound of the shower. damian hates being vulnerable. but jon has bled about fourty-two times when he’s with damian since they were kids, all from scraps and bleeding noses and not-so-careful times when a sorcerer takes jon’s magic that one time and he was coincidentally stabbed during a mugging he intervened the next day. but this.

_there was so much blood_.

by the fifth hour of jon’s unconsciousness, father finally takes the red-sun filtered lamps away. jon’s body begins to heal. it’s slow, but he gets more colour in his cheeks. alfred makes him the tea he likes as he watches from the monitor. alfred tells him to sleep, get some rest. “you’ve done your best, master damian. master jon would have wanted you to heal yourself as well.” damian doesn’t tell alfred that he doesn’t know and probably _never_ _will_ know what jon would’ve wanted, that it’s ridiculous, is he _jon_ all of a sudden?

but instead damian hums, expressionless, hands rubbing absently at alfred the cat. “perhaps.” damian eventually lies.

alfred, the butler, gives no comment.

by the sixth hour, jon is given exposure to the yellow sun. his heart rate picks up, his stitches nearly almost missing from his chest. lois finally agrees to take a shower. clark and father negotiates a stay in a hotel wayne enterprises owns which connects to the underground batcave where jon is being monitored. damian already somewhat misses gotham. it isn’t the safest of place — but it’s home. the mini replica of the manor father has in chicago simply couldn’t compare.

by the eighth hour, jon is moved into a room in the fake-manor. damian stays and watch. lois doesn’t seem to mind.

by the tenth, jon stirs awake. his movement slow, languid. 

his eyes open and it’s blue, searing. damian doesn’t realises he’s holding his breath until jon attempts at mouthing his name, eyebrows crooked, nose crinkling in a frown. he’s probably confused. damian thinks about the chest where the bullets resided which almost cost him jon, and it throws him back, leaves him cold and anxious. but he squeezes jon’s hand once, the right one, and jon squeezes back, familiar. damian relaxes.

damian announces, “i will inform father, superdad, and your mother immediately.”

but all jon does is smile, says in a hoarse voice, “so glad i woke up to you.”

damian will say later, “you’ve certainly took your time, didn’t you, corncob?” and watches jon’s laughter weakly translates into a fragile-sickly sort of smile. his teeth showing. it’s suddenly too difficult to part. finally, he adds, “i quite miss you, love.”

“glad to know i’m missed.”  


jon doesn’t get it. 

damian frowns at their clasped hands. _jon doesn’t get it_. “i’m serious.”

silence. and then, “i know.” with, “i’m sorry.”

finally, “i love you, damian.”

and when it’s all said and over that damian knows everything from the start — the cold calculating actions, to the punch-in-the-gut realisation and heartbreaking breakdown — till now is what makes it worth it. just for another second, minute, hour, day to reply, “i’m always yours, jonathan.”

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to write something where damian and jon are already in a relationship and they're being grossly in Love(tm) but also apparently angst refuses to leave me. so. this is what has been born. again, this is a 2am writing exercise so be kind to me pls i'll give u jon's favourite would-totally-marry noodles?


End file.
